


we've got a different set of vices but all the rage

by anacruses



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA V AU, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Gunplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacruses/pseuds/anacruses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'You had to have known at least one of us would betray you.'<br/>'Didn’t think it would be you,' Geoff says, trying to keep his teeth from chattering with cold and fear. He closes his eyes and waits, fear and adrenaline and anger boiling up in his chest and a dull thudding clogging his mind."<br/>Or, Geoff and Ryan on the boat. "There doesn't have to be two of us" etc etc etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we've got a different set of vices but all the rage

**Author's Note:**

> hoooooooooooooo boy. Actually started this fic about...four months ago? Just finished it tonight. Doesn't make much sense plot-wise and the smut is only there if you squint. But it was a lot of fun to write, so I'm not too bothered.

“On the bright side, uhh, your cut just got a hell of a lot bigger.” Geoff tries for a smile, but he’s tired. Tired and defeated. Beside him, Ryan takes a breath, holds it, releases. He pulls his mask off and drops it to the floor of the boat.

“We’re clear of the cops, I believe,” he says, looking around them. The night air is cool, the horizon to their right blazing with light and life; the sky above them, this far out from the city, speckled with stars. The spray from the waves stings Geoff’s cheeks. There is blood on his hands. Whose? His own? He can’t remember how it got there, wipes his palms on his pants. Glances down at the bag between the two of them.

“You’re looking at about a sweet six hundred dollars.”

“Oh? Did we get a solid twelve hundred?”

“Something like that.” Geoff stretches back in his seat; his mind is racing and his body is thrumming with adrenaline and fighting off the crash that it knows is coming, and he wishes everything could just _stop_ —

“Something like that,” Ryan repeats, nodding slowly. He laughs softly, and out of the corner of his eye Geoff catches a glimpse of his face; there’s something cold in his expression, a particular empty mirth in his eyes, that sets Geoff’s nerves over the edge for the nth time that night. He braces himself—but for what?

With a single fluid motion of Ryan’s hand, the boat jerks to a stop, the motor putt-putt-putting into silence. The only sounds left now are the waves crashing against the boat and Geoff’s heart thudding in his ears.

“Why are we stopped?” Geoff asks, standing, already knowing the answer and cursing himself for dropping his gun somewhere back on the shore. 

“I mean…” Ryan stands too, pulling his pistol out, checking to see if it’s loaded. “There really doesn’t have to be two of us left at this point, does there? So…”

“Ohhhh, no,” Geoff says, backing up, holding up his hands, trying to laugh. _Real funny joke, Ryan, what a fucking hoot you are, we’ll be laughing about this later, you jokester, just as soon as you_ put the fucking gun down _—_

Ryan’s faster than he is, faster by far, and before Geoff can grab the wheel of the boat, before he can jump back into the bay, before he can register a thought much more than _you stupid backstabbing fuck_ , his hand is locked around Geoff’s wrist, twisting it backwards, sending an agonizing pain up his arm and forcing him to his knees. Geoff’s knees ache the second he hits the ground, and he wishes desperately that he’d wake up from whatever adrenaline-induced nightmare this must be.

Ryan lets go of his wrist, runs his hand through Geoff’s hair, his gun cocked and ready in his other hand. He ghosts his fingertips along Geoff’s jaw, and Geoff shivers at the discordant tenderness of the gesture. He’s not stupid enough to make a run for it, not with the barrel of Ryan’s gun barely two feet from his face and nothing but open water surrounding them.

“Don’t look at me like that, Geoff,” Ryan murmurs down to him. The ocean breeze ruffles his hair, and he smiles. “You had to have known at least _one_ of us would betray you.”

“Didn’t think it would be you,” Geoff says, trying to keep his teeth from chattering with cold and fear. He closes his eyes and waits, fear and adrenaline and anger boiling up in his chest and a dull thudding clogging his mind.

“Hey, look at me. Geoff. Geoff, _look at me_.” Ryan squeezes the sides of Geoff’s jaw, forces him to open his eyes. “Nothing personal, right? Just…business. You understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” Geoff mutters. Ryan smiles at him.

“You always were the smart one, Geoff.” He presses the muzzle of the gun to Geoff’s throat, where his jugular jumps under his skin; the metal is cold and hard and solid, and Geoff shuts his eyes again. Waits.

The gun is gone, suddenly, leaving his skin burning. Geoff squints up at his old friend. “Actually…” Ryan says, cocking his head to the side. “Maybe it’s not… _entirely_ business.”

“Ryan, what are you—“

Ryan has a hold on Geoff’s jaw again, squeezing pressure points, forcing him to open his mouth. Geoff squirms, tries to twist away—no use. Ryan slips the muzzle of the gun into Geoff’s mouth and moves his grip to the back of Geoff’s head. Geoff tries to force the gun out, bites down on cold steel. He tastes gunpowder.

“You gonna fight this? Or you gonna be smart about it?”

Geoff is trembling, he wants to collapse—but he nods, slowly. Ryan moves the barrel of the gun further into his mouth, and Geoff tries to swallow around it; it’s hard, unyielding, heavy, huge. It nearly triggers his gag reflex and he shuts his eyes, relaxes his throat, forces his mind to go elsewhere. Waits for the inevitable clicking of Ryan’s finger on the trigger. He’s not about to die in the middle of the ocean at the hands of his friend-turned-fucking-psychopath, getting face-fucked by the barrel of a gun, he’s home, he’s safe, his friends are all still alive, and instead of swallowing Ryan’s gun, he’s swallowing his—no, _never_. Not now.

His mind comes back to reality when a wave jostles the boat and he has to shift position to stay upright and realizes he’s hard as a rock. A small, small whimper escapes his throat.

Ryan pulls the gun out, keeping his hand firmly on the back of Geoff’s head, and Geoff coughs, shakes, trying to hide the bulge in his pants. He should hate this, he should be nothing but fucking _incensed_ at Ryan—but he’s not. Yeah, he’s pissed, and scared, but more than anything he’s turned the fuck on.

“Good,” Ryan says, stroking Geoff’s hair again, smiling like it was a test Geoff just passed with flying colors. Geoff tries not to move into the touch. “Good.”

Then, Ryan is on his knees in front of Geoff, pressing the gun back against his throat. He curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Geoff’s head, presses their foreheads together. He smells like sweat and smoke and the sea. 

Ryan shuts his eyes and furrows his brow, taking a breath like he's about to say something—but he stays silent. Instead, he kisses Geoff, hard and bruising and with no shortage of teeth. Geoff kisses him back, no longer knowing what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. The gun stays pressed against his throat, steady over his racing pulse. When Ryan finally pulls away, Geoff’s face is flushed, his lips swollen and bleeding. Heat pools in his chest and he grips Ryan’s shirt with numb fingers. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Geoff whispers, his voice hoarse and cracking. He kisses him again. Ryan smiles into the kiss.

“Yeah, but you knew that,” he says softly, pulling away, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. He takes the gun from Geoff’s throat, trails it down his chest as he presses kisses to his neck, rubs the gun against his cock through the fabric of his pants. Geoff jumps and whimpers softly, and Ryan grins against his skin. He keeps a tight grip on the back of Geoff’s head, gently rubs his cock with the gun again; a breathy laugh escapes his throat when Geoff whines and arches towards him. “Okay, okay.” 

Ryan presses a kiss to the hollow of Geoff’s throat and pulls away, takes the gun with him. Geoff watches through half-lidded eyes as he deliberately pulls out the magazine, drops it to the floor of the boat, and sets the gun gently aside. “Enough of that, all right? You gonna be good?”

“Ryan, if you want the money, just fuckin’ take it, all right?”

Ryan clicks his tongue. “Geoff, if I just wanted the money, don’t you think I would already have it?” He cradles Geoff’s head in his hands and bites his throat gently. “This was never about the money.”

Geoff’s mind is buzzing and there’s the distinct taste of blood and gunpowder in his mouth and he’s never been more turned on in his life. He kisses Ryan’s cheeks, his temples, anywhere he can reach. “Then what the fuck is it about?”

“Ennnnhhhh. Y’know.” Ryan starts unbuttoning Geoff’s shirt, pressing kisses to the tattooed skin. Pushes him backwards so Geoff is leaning against the side of the boat and Ryan is straddling his hips. “I’m alone with you. Figured I’d finally take my chances.”

“And try to fucking—Christ. Christ, Ryan.” Geoff arches his neck back as Ryan bites a mark into the skin of his throat. “All our friends are probably _dead_ , what the fuck is going _on_.”

"Do you want to stop?” Ryan asks. He rests his hands on either side of Geoff’s shoulders, leans over him, looks down. His eyes are pale, cold blue in the moonlight.

“Are you just gonna kill me anyway?” Geoff’s voice is loud in his own ears, his tongue doesn’t want to work properly. Fear and lust in equal amounts.

Ryan shrugs. “Haven’t decided.” He traces a finger over the colored ink on Geoff’s exposed skin and Geoff shivers.

“Then, no.” Geoff lets out a breath. “Probably be kicking myself for this later, but—“

Ryan kisses Geoff before he can finish his sentence, pulling his shirt the rest of the way open and biting his lower lip hard. Geoff fights back a whimper, instead kisses Ryan back as forcefully as he can, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging until Ryan breaks the kiss. 

“Never imagined you’d play it this rough,” he says quietly, and his voice is low and hoarse and Geoff can feel it in his chest.

“You’re the asshole who shoved the fuckin’ gun down my throat,” Geoff growls back. Ryan laughs, and it’s cold, it’s freezing out here, but Geoff shrugs his shirt off anyway, gets a grip on Ryan’s shirt and starts tugging it off too.

“If I’d have known it got you this turned on I would’ve done it ages ago.” Ryan pulls his shirt off, tosses it carelessly aside, grins and grinds his hips against Geoff’s. For the first time, Geoff can see the desperation in Ryan’s eyes, the first cracks in his steady facade. He sees his opening and strikes, gripping Ryan’s hips and pulling him down, arching his back and exposing his throat, letting out a low moan as he grinds their cocks together. Ryan shudders and sinks his teeth into Geoff’s bare shoulder, a whimper lost in the sound of the waves around them. 

“What, tried to murder me?” Geoff’s squeaks on the second-to-last word, and he’s too far gone to care, but it elicits a smirk from Ryan all the same. He sucks another bruise into Geoff’s throat and wraps his hands around his waist. His hands are _huge,_ and Geoff squirms.

“Yeah, maybe.” Ryan digs his fingers into Geoff’s skin, nails cutting into his hipbones. “You seem to be into it, though, so….”

Geoff just grunts and drags his fingertips down Ryan’s back, hoping he’s leaving angry red marks; Ryan is broad and huge and _solid_ and Geoff isn’t small but, pinned to the deck beneath him, he feels completely dwarfed, totally helpless.

“Shhh, shhhhhh.” Ryan makes his way down Geoff’s chest, leaving a trail of kisses and bite marks, until he’s hovering just above his waistband. He looks up at Geoff, grins—and it’s predatory, hollow, all too familiar—and Geoff bites back a moan as Ryan palms him through his pants. “Shhhhhhhhhhh.” 

“Good lord, Ryan, fuck me or kill me, just get it _over with_.” Geoff feels like he could just come like this, without his cock ever really being touched, and what a fucking _waste_ that would be. Part of him thinks Ryan will probably just kill him anyway once they’re done, part of him doesn’t know what to think; the rest of him has given up on _thinking_ and is just _doing._

“A bit impatient, are we?” Ryan murmurs into Geoff’s skin, but his own patience is wearing thin, and he scrabbles at Geoff’s fly, slides his pants down his hips. When he takes Geoff into his hand, his fingers are shaking, and Geoff can’t help the noises that come out of his mouth. “Shhhh, it’s okay,” Ryan whispers, but his voice is trembling. He tightens his grip on Geoff’s cock, following the roll of his hips.

Geoff reaches down, reaching for something to hold onto, to steady him, and finds Ryan’s jaw, pulls him up into a kiss. Ryan kisses him slowly, matching the steady pulse of his hand on Geoff’s cock, their hips grinding together. Geoff can feel himself losing it, whimpers into Ryan’s mouth and thrusts into his hand, and Ryan loosens his grip until he’s just barely touching his cock.

“Cocktease,” Geoff mutters, fingers fumbling with Ryan’s belt buckle. Ryan grins and sinks his teeth into the soft skin just below Geoff’s ear; his breath is hot and heavy against Geoff’s skin. Geoff finally works his belt open, pulls Ryan’s cock out, and Ryan _jumps_ when he gets a hold of it, shudders and collapses against Geoff’s shoulder. Geoff can feel him coming undone, even as he reaches down and strokes Geoff’s cock and flashes his teeth.

Then, there is nothing but heat, hot slick heat and Geoff’s heart pounding in his throat, Ryan’s breath in his ear; Ryan puts his hand on top of Geoff’s, laces their fingers together, strokes both their cocks. It’s all Geoff can do to keep from coming right there, he thrusts up into their joined hands and lets his head fall back and a helpless whimper escapes his throat. Ryan kisses his jawline gently, nuzzles their foreheads together. “Come on, come for me,” he whispers, and that’s it, Geoff lets himself go, digs his nails into Ryan’s back, thrusts up until he spills over their hands and his mind goes blank; he hears Ryan make a strangled cry, feels him tense up—and then nothing.

Geoff sits silent for a minute, tries to catch his breath, face buried into Ryan’s shoulder. His mind is still reeling, and he nudges Ryan off of him, sits up, runs his clean hand through his hair. Shoulders trembling and chest heaving, he fights back something that could either be a laugh or a sob, and his head is too clouded to know which. Ryan picks up his discarded shirt, cleans himself off, and offers it to Geoff.

“You’re still a backstabbing asshole,” Geoff tells him, taking the shirt, his voice creaking. “Backstabbing murderous cocksucker.”

“Nah,” Ryan says. “Just a handjob, actually.”

Geoff pulls his own shirt back on and rubs his face. He’s sore, bruised, reeling, ecstatic, and his legs shake when he tries to stand. “Asshole.”

“Yeah.” Ryan smooths his hair down, pulls on his jacket over bare skin, and holds his hand out to help Geoff to his feet. His face is flushed, his pupils huge, and there’s a fleck of blood on his lower lip. Geoff looks at him, hesitates, takes his hand.

“…you gonna kill me?”

Ryan laughs, a light breathy thing, no humor or malice behind it. Nothing behind it at all. “No. Not now, anyway.”

“That’s…really not exactly reassuring.”

Ryan shrugs. “You know what they say about beggars and choosers.”

“That they’ll try to kill each other and then make it to third base.” Geoff feels confused, detached from himself, even more so when Ryan cradles his face in his hands again and kisses his temple softly. 

“Well…that, too.”

Geoff finds himself leaning his head against Ryan’s shoulder. He is so tired, and Ryan is solid and steady and warm, even as he traces his fingers along Geoff’s throat idly; Geoff wonders if he’s still about to die. He wonders if he cares. His mind is a jumble of pain and pleasure and adrenaline.

Suddenly, the discarded radio crackles beside them, and they jump apart. “—out there? Jesus Christ will somebody fucking answer me.” 

_Michael_.

“What d’you know,” Ryan says quietly. He picks the radio up, turns it over in his hands. Looks at Geoff intently. “They made it after all. Your call.”

Geoff takes the handset from Ryan, who makes no moves to encourage or discourage him, just watches him with a curious, blank expression. Geoff takes a deep breath. 

He is so _tired_.

“Michael can wait five more minutes, I think,” Geoff says slowly, and he puts the radio down. 

Ryan smiles.

 


End file.
